


Touch Starved

by forthewidowsinparadise



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Self-Indulgent, They are meant to be together, self-insert yourself/your apprentice OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthewidowsinparadise/pseuds/forthewidowsinparadise
Summary: Asra presses one long, tender kiss to the apprentice’s lips. The floor melts like candlewax underneath them as they stay suspended in that moment, feeling each other’s presence as if their nerve endings had opened and reconnected into their true system. In the end, the apprentice sighed into Asra’s mouth, fingers looking ghostly while wrapped up in soft, white hair."I've really, truly missed you, Asra.""I love you too."





	Touch Starved

**Author's Note:**

> A smoochy, self-indulgent little mess of fluff to tide me over until the next Asra book comes out. Enjoy!

Over many mornings, the apprentice had memorized the properties of a half-filled bed. A bed whose left side wasn’t meant to be empty, but was, was cold and smelled only of the ghost of something familiar. It was tidy sheets, offering a bitter kiss good morning to the apprentice’s palm when it fell, disappointed, to where it had expected a warm chest. Smooth, silk sheets without a heartbeat—untouched and unrumpled. They rumpled them purposely: out of longing, out of loneliness, to create the illusion that the bunches in the fabric were created in the night, by a companion they so sorely missed. 

The apprentice put their nose to the sheets, inhaling to fill their lungs with carob incense, smoked coltsfoot and soap. It was faint and missing a slight tone of parchment, but it was enough of his scent to conjure a craving in their chest; a longing for Asra to return. Though master and pupil had long ago transitioned to lovers—as if they had ever been anything but—Asra still never made the ends of his journeys a calendar date. Whether it was an act of secrecy or if the sorcerer himself was simply unsure, the apprentice couldn’t know for certain. What they did know, however, was that it had been too long. So long that they lay in bed awake through the night, incessantly counting their own heartbeats, in wait of the moment they could count Asra’s instead. 

Observing the grey sky fogging up the room’s one, small window, the apprentice realized that they’d woken up much too early. The sun had barely risen, and they were suddenly so aware of the exhaustion in their bones—how long had it been since they’d had a good night’s sleep? Hand still outstretched across Asra’s side of the bed, they began to nod off once again, feeling the phantom touch of affection tickle their neck. _Asra._ The conjured feeling slid over their shoulders and down their slack arm, wrapping around and around and relaxing them through and through. It felt heavy for something of their own, sleep-induced imagination. 

It wasn’t until a sizeable weight landed in their palm that the apprentice opened their eyes, processing a small, blue forehead and soft red eyes that definitely weren’t a dream. “Faust?” They say, confused. Faust perks up, almost as if to smile.

_Back_

“I didn’t think you would be awake yet, my love…” came a hushed, honeyed voice. The apprentice’s nose picked up the scent of parchment they had been missing. “It’s early.”

Asra’s presence to the apprentice’s back—his hand coming up along the curve of their waist, resting tenderly on their stomach—had them overcome with emotion. They turned onto their back very carefully, as not to lose the sorcerer’s touch so soon, and couldn’t decide if his bright, violet eyes were real or a near-sleep hallucination. “You’re back?” They murmured, weakly cupping Asra’s face. Their eyes drooped to accommodate a smile, and they cursed their own body for being so sleepy at a time like this. “I’ve missed you, dear.”

They could feel their heavy tongue slurring their words terribly, but the struggle to stay awake was worth Asra’s small puff of laughter. Half-consciously, they run their fingers across his smiling lips, but Asra only takes their hand. Softly, he presses a kiss to their palm, and the apprentice—who is so deliriously tired and in love—can’t help but observe how his eyelashes shine in the soft candlelight. The sight calms them and, with their remaining bit of energy, they plead. “Lay with me.” 

But Asra simply smiles, stroking their hair out of their face. “I wish I could, but I have to put together some special sachets for the Countess. I think I’ve found a way to cure her headaches. Or at least lessen them.” He explained, a well-earned hint of pride bleeding into the serene sound of him. The apprentice could only hum in acknowledgement, melting as Asra carded his fingers through their messy curls, scratching their scalp with the same fondness as when scratching Faust’s chin. “I offered to bring them to her.” He continued, a laugh riding his voice. “But she insisted on making the journey. I think she misses you.”

“Hmm, does she now?” The apprentice yawned.

“She wouldn’t be the only one.”

With that, the apprentice faded into their first unbroken sleep since Asra’s departure. They dreamt vividly of him—of his silks and his mouth and the magic in his fingertips—and awoke to the sound of rain, a muted wash of sunlight over them, and an overwhelming disillusionment. They could still feel Asra’s phantom fingers stroking their scalp, as if it had been really, tangibly him who’d touched them in their dream. It took only the faint sound of voices in the living quarters to change that sadness to a shock of hopeful confusion.

“—should help. Blessed thistle, burdock, feverfew—“ 

The apprentice suddenly realized that the voice they were hearing was not an illusion—that, yes, Asra’s return had happened outside of their dream. That he was here.

It might as well have been their birthday, the realization was such a gift.

Touch-starved, emotional and filled with hungry elation, they moved to fling themselves all the way from the bed and into his arms. However, their bare feet barely touch the floor when they hear a second voice. They freeze on the spot.

“Thank you, Asra,” offered the sumptuous, regal notes of Nadia’s voice. The voices quiet for a moment, most likely in the making of an exchange, and the apprentice heard Nadia’s jewellery rattle as she stowed Asra’s gifts away. “You must be quite drained, Asra.” She continues, her voice ringing clear and rich even through the walls. “So, tell me, why are you not the one sleeping the day away?”

The apprentice blushes from embarrassment—how late in the day was it?—but, when they hear Asra’s celestial laughter, they flush for reasons completely separate.  
“Leave them be, Nadia.” He says. “While the rain invigorates me, it tends to render my beloved tired and lethargic. Also, they’ll deny it but…” His voice lowers, but the apprentice can still hear the adoration lining every word. “…they never sleep well while I’m gone, so they’re probably repaying a rather hefty sleep-debt.”

“How endearing.” Nadia’s voice is inexpressive, but the apprentice knows that her words always shine much truer in her expressions. They expect she is looking at Asra with the same look she always wears when she sees the two of them touching or kissing or glowing with love. That is, with a poorly sheathed glimmer of solidarity—of fondness and delight, with just a hint of melancholy. “Well, do not wake them for my sake only. I will see them again soon enough, I’m sure.”

“Yes, of course. You’re welcome here at any time, Nadia.” A delicate smack comes from a parting kiss on the cheek. “Both my love and I are always happy to see you.”

“And I, you.”

Hearing Nadia take her leave, the apprentice knows they should rush to make an appearance—catch Nadia before she departs, at least say ‘hello’ and offer a humble witticism about oversleeping on a weekday—but they can’t bring themselves to. Instead, they take their time getting dressed. Shrugging on a shawl and wrapping their sash slowly, meticulously, they listen intently for the front door to close. It’s heavy, so it’s loud and, by the time they’re dressed, they estimate that Nadia is already halfway back to the palace.  
Selfishly, only now do they feel inclined to hurry out of the room. Now, they are alone.  
Alone with Asra, finally.

Chamber stick in hand—candlelight cutting through the rain-induced greyness—the apprentice pushes open their bedroom door to find Asra’s back to them. They pause for a moment, assessing the curve of his body—the width of his back, the dishevelment of his hair. His silks hang haphazardly from one shoulder, pinned up only by Faust’s sleeping body curled up around his arm. The way his shoulders drop inwards—hunching over his mortar and pestle as he weakly grinds cloves for a potion—indicates his muscles are just as exhausted as the snake snoozing on him. 

Seeing this, the apprentice hesitated no longer. Abandoning the chamber stick beside one of the many candles alight in the shop, they sidled up to their weary lover, willing a surge of healing magic into the pressure points of their hands. Running their palms up Asra’s back and across his shoulders, they feel the magic moving from their body to his, bestowing upon them the peace of both a healer and a pining lover. The soft, pink glow came deep from their heart, willing away the tension plaguing Asra’s every muscle and ligament. Asra immediately unravelled under their hands. 

“My love.” The apprentice cooed, pressing a kiss to the base of Asra’s neck. They hadn’t willed any magic to their lips but, in their bliss, a faint shimmer of pink remained on Asra’s golden skin. It gusts across his shoulders like dust being blown from a keepsake, and Asra practically melts under the spell. They apprentice had almost forgotten how easily he became undone. They pressed themselves flush to Asra’s back, arms wrapped tightly around his middle and cheek pressed to the back of his shoulder. “Good morning.” 

Leaning his head against theirs, Asra laughed through his nose. “Good evening.” He teased.

“Oh, hush. You’re just jealous.” The apprentice chuckled, running their fingers lazily up and down Asra’s stomach. “You could have very well joined me this morning, then we could have slept excessively _together._ ”

Asra doesn’t disagree. In fact, he sets down his task and holds the apprentice close to him. “We still have tomorrow morning.” He says, the tip of his nose tapping against theirs.

“Hmm, yes.” The apprentice hums. “How was your trip?”

“Tedious. Lonely.” His arms twine around their waist, pulling their body up and in so they fit perfectly together—knees lined up, faces buried in the warmth of fabrics and skin. “I’m so glad to be home.”

Forgetting all other meager thoughts, Asra devotes every ounce of his attention to his apprentice. His lover, who liquefies against his collar when pulled into it—who would rather spike their air intake with the ginseng powder on Asra’s sleeves, never tasting pure oxygen again. They can feel Asra inhaling deeply as well, probably committing to memory a scent he’d once described as dried herbs and moss. _‘Moss ensures luck and prosperity.’_ He’d explained to them. _‘I feel I have both these things with you in my life.’_

They remember smirking at him, impish and daring in the dusk. _‘It can also be used to attract the sexual attention of a male lover, can it not?’_

The memory was reminiscent of a transcendent touch; one that could be replicated by no one else in the world. The apprentice smiled as Asra’s hands began to wander over their body in that very way. Dipping his hands into their loosened sash, massaging their waist with the knuckles of his fingers, suckling the tender skin beneath their ear: Asra was an enchanter in every sense of the word. “I’ve really, truly missed this.” The apprentice gasps, breathless from the warmth invading their body. “I missed you, Asra.”

With those words, the fever passes, and Asra presses one long, tender kiss to the apprentice’s lips. The floor melts like candlewax underneath them as they stay suspended in that kiss, feeling each other’s presence as if their nerve endings had opened and reconnected into their true system. In the end, the apprentice sighed into Asra’s mouth, fingers looking ghostly while wrapped up in soft, white hair. 

“I love you too, my darling.” Asra reciprocates, replying more to the light in the apprentice’s eyes than any sort of verbiage. He pushes baby hairs from their temple, letting his knuckles brush their face ever so lightly. They raise their hand to intertwine with his, and they smile at each other, softened by both candlelight and their pure, gentle affections.  
Asra placed a kiss on the apprentice’s nose, before kneading gentle thumbs into the softness of their abdomen. “You must be hungry, you’ve been asleep all day.”

“And I presume, because it’s you, that you haven’t eaten yet either.”

Asra smiles sheepishly. “I had a biscuit and some tea at eight o’clock.”

“I love you, my moon.” The apprentice holds his cheeks in their hands. “But you are a terrible, terrible liar. I can tell when you haven’t eaten, you know.”

“How can you possibly tell?” Asra challenged, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You must be joking!” The apprentice quips, abruptly shoving their cold hands up Asra’s tunic. The sorcerer giggles and quivers as they run their hands up the expanse of their bare stomach and ribs. “You’re wasting away right under my hands, my love! Wasting!”

“Alright, alright!” Asra laughed, a sound as pure and youthful as a children’s choir. “You’ve got me. I’ll heat up some pottage for us both.” 

As he turned to do so, the apprentice felt an almost grief-stricken sense of panic at the imminent loss of contact. Without thinking, they found themselves reaching out, but Asra was already one step ahead of them. Looping his arm around their waist, he refused to let go until it was absolutely necessary for the prevention of cuts and burns. When they parted—Asra tending to the stew and the kettle, while the apprentice sliced bread and prepared the tea—the distance between them was palpable. 

But, as it turns out, the apprentice soon remembered how calm and satisfied they felt with Asra in the room. His pixyish footfalls, his constant humming, the scrtich, scritch of his fingers scratching Faust’s head: cherished white noise. The chatter was missed even more. Affectionate palaver was what they always used to fill that empty space when they couldn’t touch, tossing around sweet, schmaltzy laughter and coquetry—it was a domestic little game that always made the apprentice feel alight with love. “Make sure not to light a blue fire by accident this time, Asra.” They teased. “I didn’t save any more leftovers if you burn this up.” 

Asra only snorts in response, and the apprentice smiles at the easiness of it all. They bask in the feeling of Asra’s magic filling the room, as he conjured a fire underneath their cooking pot and began their dinner. It went straight through them, feeling like their entire body was being touched all at once.  
Shaking it off, they got to work setting the worn, cedar table with spoons and old, pewter tea cups. The small sacks of tea, tonight, were filled with chamomile, cacao and valerian root for a good night’s sleep. For the same effect, they placed a hearty slab of bread at each chair—Asra’s being spitefully bigger, of course—and puttered around, searching for some butter and absentmindedly petting Faust each time they passed her spot on the spice shelf. Laying down a jug of goat milk and a tub of cane sugar, they completed the setting with the chamber stick from the bedroom, placing it in the middle of it all. 

It was then that something felt missing. “Asra.” They called to their lover, who was just now ladling pottage into two large bowls.

“Yes, love?”

“Sedgewick usually has peppermint incense in at his shop around this time of year, did you happen to pick any up today?”

Asra lights up: his favorite winter incense. He buys it in bulk whenever the seasonal merchants roll their caravans into town. It burns in their home all winter long and, yet, he always seems delighted that the apprentice remembers. “Yes, I bought some this morning.” He chirps, setting the bowls down on the table. “Please, let’s light some. It’s in the cupboard.”

Brushing their fingers along Asra’s back as they passed him, the apprentice skipped towards the incense cupboard. They gave a quick kiss to the orris root talisman hanging from the knob—a protective ward of their love—and pulled out the only untouched product in the cupboard. As soon as it began burning, the environment was complete: smells of peppermint, soup, bread and tea. There, with the low hung sun of the evening, the patter of rain, and the crackle and gleam of the fire. Its light supported the whole room, so Asra blew out the candles, one by one.

And how could they forget the sight of Asra? Asra, who sat next to them, leaving the chamber stick alight so it flushed their faces in fire tones—Asra, whose eyes were loving, and whose face was beautiful and whose soul was so helplessly intertwined with theirs. He laughed as the apprentice cupped their bowl in their hands, using a smidge of magic to cool down their soup, and it was a holy sound. Certainly Asra’s laughter could save the plagued mind, his healing hands the plagued body. He was not of this world, and they often imagined his voice as an instrument in the songs of the ancient pagan gods. He would fit right in: powerful, beautiful. Above all—to them—his existence in their world was sacrosanct. 

“Deep in thought?” It wasn’t until Asra spoke that they realized they’d been staring, chin in palm. They smiled bashfully, and Asra smiled back with a brightness tenfold.  
The apprentice watched the movements of Asra’s lips as he sipped his tea. “Just happy.” They said. “And my head’s just…full.”

“Hmm.” Asra hummed into the rim of his teacup, trying—and magnificently failing at—fighting a delighted grin. “Mine too.”

Pausing for a moment, the apprentice surveyed their lover’s face. The room was quiet, save for Faust’s soft snores and the clicking of the fire. “Of what?” They moved closer—quiet, like a held breath—and placed their hands on Asra’s chest.

The magician’s lungs stuttered under their palms, but he still managed a mischievous smirk. “You tell first.”

“You.” They answered in an instant.

As if Asra hadn’t already known.

The apprentice knew intrinsically that the same word was lying on Asra’s tongue, so they felt no sorrow when he let it dissolve like a soft pill. He said nothing, except for when he scraped his chair across the floorboards until they were nose to nose; until he kissed them deeply. This noiseless passion spoke to them in terms that no language had yet invented. 

Only when they parted did the apprentice realize they were perched in Asra’s lap, legs curled around the back of his chair. Asra’s eyes were dark but shocked with affection. He placed a gentle hand to their backbone—they held his face like the moon in their hands. A blink, and they embraced each other so gently that it was almost incongruous how they, just moments ago, had been spilling over with aphrodisia. Though one could not call this unpassionate.

“I don’t want to leave this chair.” Asra mumbled into the apprentice’s shoulder. “I don’t ever want to leave this spot again.”

They could feel—as they lazily stroked the nape of Asra’s neck—that the sorcerer was getting drunk off sleepiness and love. He hummed contently, and they wondered if they might accidentally fall asleep right here in this hard, cedar chair. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, because to retire would mean to move, and to move would mean to have to break apart. And, after only just getting Asra back, they couldn’t stand that idea for a second. They had waited weeks to love. To love like this. To be held, to be cossetted: how, in this moment, could they want anything more? 

Nuzzling their nose just under his ear, they inhaled deeply. Carob. Coltsfoot. Soap and parchment. Home.

“So stay.”


End file.
